Justin Nigro;
Brian Harrison;
Brent Wadman;
Patrick Kelly
Влияние
the Jellyfish, North Carolina, Elliot Smith, M.C. Escher, U2, Stevie Vaughn, Vince Vaughn, The Steve Miller Band, the Violent Femmes, green, The Rooster, Mike Dreiling, Clapton, Elvis Costello, and the Edge.
..
We're on a new journey, a new path, and that's the point. Our personal lives poured out on paper for your entertainment. Despite the song writing, I really am happy. If you would like to tag along, send me your email and I will add you to the cult. Come out to a show and listen. You will hear stuff about us that you wouldn't imagine... See ya soon.
orem.-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Teacher
A Novel by Scott Harper
The young man stood at the lip of the canyon, arms akimbo, with the horizon spread out before him. In an earlier time, he had been known as ShitBreak, but now he was known simply as The Teacher. His game had been proven so many times, and he was so money, the nomenclature fit him to a tee. Saturday night, however, something had gone terribly wrong. He seemed to have sealed the deal with the attractive blonde they called Kelly, but somehow, he ended the night alone. With his blurred vision from the hangover causing his eyes to squint in the sun, he tried to piece together what exactly happened Saturday night.
The last thing he remembered was the car ride home. He was sitting in the backseat with his wingman, Double Down, and this was the first mistake.
Kelly and Maggie rode up front, and The Teacher knew that's where he should be. His head bobbed as the car made its way through KC, and he reflected on the earlier night at Filloon's. He was so money. His outfit said it all.
He wore gray and black striped clown pants, with a gray vest covering a slightly disheveled, half un-tucked tuxedo shirt. As if this outfit wasn't getting Kelly into his bed already, at some point, he had unbuttoned the tuxedo shirt down to his stomach, underneath the vest, exposing his bright pink, sunburned skin. The Teacher knew that he was getting some action.
As the car continued winding the streets of KC, he realized he had dozed off. He decided to make his presence known. "Blue," he said in an increasingly slurred voice, "you look glorious." "That's interesting,"
Maggie replied. The Teacher retorted immediately. "You want to see something interesting?" The Teacher asked as he whipped off his seatbelt, and begun unzipping his pants. "No," the girls said in unison. His wingman interjected, "Put your seatbelt back on, ShitBreak." Double Down was starting to annoy The Teacher, and his hand still throbbed from the left hook he had given DD earlier in the night. "No," The Teacher replied, "they can kill me."
The girls looked confused by this slurred statement. The Teacher wondered why, as he had already made it clear to Kelly and Maggie that they were in good hands. He had summed it up in one statement as the car left Filloon's. "We're not serial killers," The Teacher had told them. He was sure that this would be his in. Girls loved guys who weren't serial killers.
As the car wound through the streets, he recalled how money he had been earlier in the night, when his bedside spot next to Kelly was being secured.
As he described his "studio", the girls listened in wonderment. "I have this music room at my house," The Teacher had explained in his slurred voice, "It's just a room, but it has a chest in it. I don't know if I'd call it a chest of drawers, but it's a chest that contains my music. I have all of my CDs, cassettes, and vinyl albums in there. That's also where I keep my guitar. I play guitar, you know." That was the line that got him where he was now, in the backseat of the Hyundai with his wingman. He knew in his head that the swamp cooler window air conditioner unit usually drowned out any sound of music, but, here, 500 miles from home, he knew Kelly was none the wiser.
As the car pulled into Jumper's apartment complex, he snapped back to the present. This is where it all happens, he thought. The car pulled up to the building, and Double Down said, "We’re here, ShitBreak. Open the door." The night was not going to end like this, The Teacher knew. He leaned forward, and, in a voice that now was slurring to the point of babble, said, "You ladies want to take us somewhere?" He knew this would get him into Kelly's pants. Double Down got in the way again, saying "No, ShitBreak, they're dropping us off." The Teacher was again annoyed by his wingman, which obviously didn't have the experience The Teacher did. He held up a shaky finger to Harper, and, in a slurred whisper loud enough for the ladies to hear, said "Hold on.
I know what I'm doing." He posed the question again, head bobbing. "Do you ladies want to take us somewhere?" The girls replied no, and Double Down started to open the door for The Teacher. He knew his persistence would pay off, as it always had. "You ladies want to go somewhere?" The girls again replied no, and The Teacher's wingman told him to get out of the car. He would not go down like this. The Teacher asked a fourth time. "You ladies want to take us somewhere?" The door was open now, and DD was pushing him out the door.
As DD said goodnight to the girls, The Teacher decided that next to Kelly's Hyundai was as good a place a any to take a piss. DD got out, and told him no, go inside, and The Teacher wondered why he hadn't finished off Double Down after the initial left hook. He could no longer stand, and Double Down was having some trouble carrying him down the hill. "This place looks British," said The Teacher. "Are you British, Harper?" DD said no, but The Teacher insisted. "Are we British? This place looks British. Are you English, Harper?" That was the last thing he remembered.
As he stared out over the canyon, he recalled waking up Sunday morning, in only his tighty whities, blistered sunburn exposed. He had some form of burnt fish sticks and tartar sauce crusted on his chest, and he vaguely remembered standing naked over the stove with a spatula, frying the fish.
It didn't matter. His night with Kelly had ended abruptly, but he would redeem himself soon. He stared out into the horizon, imagining the wealth of opportunity that lay before him. Oh, yes, The Teacher though, I am so money.
Hey friends, I hope you check to see if someone has been in your myspace and have been sending out messages you did not send. You can look at my comment area and see what I am speaking of. Have a good day.
Hey Orem, Thanks for getting back to me about the Orem name. I was hoping you were related so we could find some more people in the Orem clan. Oh well the Orem that Utah was named after may be part of the family a way down the line. Thanks for the answer and the add on. Love the music. Good luck with everything.
hey, you guys should upload 'here comes the sun' to your myspace so i can put it on my page! and something with one of pat's sweet guitar solos. when i get back from europe, i'll be at the next show!
The last thing he remembered was the car ride home. He was sitting in the backseat with his wingman, Double Down, and this was the first mistake.
Kelly and Maggie rode up front, and The Teacher knew that's where he should be. His head bobbed as the car made its way through KC, and he reflected on the earlier night at Filloon's. He was so money. His outfit said it all.
He wore gray and black striped clown pants, with a gray vest covering a slightly disheveled, half un-tucked tuxedo shirt. As if this outfit wasn't getting Kelly into his bed already, at some point, he had unbuttoned the tuxedo shirt down to his stomach, underneath the vest, exposing his bright pink, sunburned skin. The Teacher knew that he was getting some action.
As the car continued winding the streets of KC, he realized he had dozed off. He decided to make his presence known. "Blue," he said in an increasingly slurred voice, "you look glorious." "That's interesting,"
Maggie replied. The Teacher retorted immediately. "You want to see something interesting?" The Teacher asked as he whipped off his seatbelt, and begun unzipping his pants. "No," the girls said in unison. His wingman interjected, "Put your seatbelt back on, ShitBreak." Double Down was starting to annoy The Teacher, and his hand still throbbed from the left hook he had given DD earlier in the night. "No," The Teacher replied, "they can kill me."
The girls looked confused by this slurred statement. The Teacher wondered why, as he had already made it clear to Kelly and Maggie that they were in good hands. He had summed it up in one statement as the car left Filloon's. "We're not serial killers," The Teacher had told them. He was sure that this would be his in. Girls loved guys who weren't serial killers.
As the car wound through the streets, he recalled how money he had been earlier in the night, when his bedside spot next to Kelly was being secured.
As he described his "studio", the girls listened in wonderment. "I have this music room at my house," The Teacher had explained in his slurred voice, "It's just a room, but it has a chest in it. I don't know if I'd call it a chest of drawers, but it's a chest that contains my music. I have all of my CDs, cassettes, and vinyl albums in there. That's also where I keep my guitar. I play guitar, you know." That was the line that got him where he was now, in the backseat of the Hyundai with his wingman. He knew in his head that the swamp cooler window air conditioner unit usually drowned out any sound of music, but, here, 500 miles from home, he knew Kelly was none the wiser.
As the car pulled into Jumper's apartment complex, he snapped back to the present. This is where it all happens, he thought. The car pulled up to the building, and Double Down said, "We’re here, ShitBreak. Open the door." The night was not going to end like this, The Teacher knew. He leaned forward, and, in a voice that now was slurring to the point of babble, said, "You ladies want to take us somewhere?" He knew this would get him into Kelly's pants. Double Down got in the way again, saying "No, ShitBreak, they're dropping us off." The Teacher was again annoyed by his wingman, which obviously didn't have the experience The Teacher did. He held up a shaky finger to Harper, and, in a slurred whisper loud enough for the ladies to hear, said "Hold on.
I know what I'm doing." He posed the question again, head bobbing. "Do you ladies want to take us somewhere?" The girls replied no, and Double Down started to open the door for The Teacher. He knew his persistence would pay off, as it always had. "You ladies want to go somewhere?" The girls again replied no, and The Teacher's wingman told him to get out of the car. He would not go down like this. The Teacher asked a fourth time. "You ladies want to take us somewhere?" The door was open now, and DD was pushing him out the door.
As DD said goodnight to the girls, The Teacher decided that next to Kelly's Hyundai was as good a place a any to take a piss. DD got out, and told him no, go inside, and The Teacher wondered why he hadn't finished off Double Down after the initial left hook. He could no longer stand, and Double Down was having some trouble carrying him down the hill. "This place looks British," said The Teacher. "Are you British, Harper?" DD said no, but The Teacher insisted. "Are we British? This place looks British. Are you English, Harper?" That was the last thing he remembered.
As he stared out over the canyon, he recalled waking up Sunday morning, in only his tighty whities, blistered sunburn exposed. He had some form of burnt fish sticks and tartar sauce crusted on his chest, and he vaguely remembered standing naked over the stove with a spatula, frying the fish.
It didn't matter. His night with Kelly had ended abruptly, but he would redeem himself soon. He stared out into the horizon, imagining the wealth of opportunity that lay before him. Oh, yes, The Teacher though, I am so money.
